barbie
by whynotcheese
Summary: if you told Billy Hargrove that one day he would be living with Steve Harrington, the artist, in a studio apartment, he would laugh in your face. if you told him that he would be a stripper, though...well that didn't seem as far fetched.
1. 1

Electric guitar poured through the speakers in the inconsequential little strip club that Billy Hargrove found himself in. He contorted himself around the pole, his hips thrusting wildly along to the beat which seemed to encompass his entire body. In moments like these, Billy liked to close his eyes and pretend that he was fucking someone. Anyone.

God, he was horny.

He opened his eyes and looked into the crowd. He could totally bed some bitch out there, but then there was the task of picking one.

Tonight, though, there weren't many women in the crowd. Nothing new, he guessed, as even though he worked there, the women that surrounded him on the stage were in much higher supply. The eyes that were on him—all of them he still made deep, sultry contact with—were male. Assumably gay males. Not that he minded; he was in no place to mind anymore. _He _wasn't gay, fuck no. But he didn't mind the occasional g-string tip from an eager twink.

There was a man sat at a reasonable distance from him. He was huge. Like a white Fat Albert. Billy could see a gargantuan fur coat wrapped around his chair, and the bar's owner, Jenny, was sitting next to him, awaiting him eagerly. But the man wasn't looking at Jenny. He was looking at Billy. And Billy wanted to make sure that the man was getting a full show.

The song shifted—something equally string-heavy, but more focused on the beat rather than the riffs—and all the dancers shifted positions along with it. Billy kept his eyes locked on Albert. Now, this was a pride thing. He was officially determined to get an incredibly large tip from this man. The pair maintained eye contact throughout the next track, and, because he had to go backstage for the next few sets, Billy winked at him. The man smirked, the apparent humor of the situation rattling throughout his large frame. Billy left him with a smile, and, undeniably, left him wanting more.

* * *

It's much later that night when Billy finally emerges from the door that leads backstage. In fact, it's no longer night. Sunlight is streaming through the windows. Billy feels himself smiling at the sight. Another night is done, and, _finally_, he can go home and rest.

His reprieve is halted, though, by the man from before. As Billy walks into the sitting area, he notices that the big man is still sitting in that same chair. He's looking at Billy with a gaze that almost makes him nervous. Almost. The man waves him over, and Billy, still eager for a large tip despite having clocked out ten minutes ago, obliges.

"You did good up there, Baby," he says, rising to a staggeringly impressive stature when Billy approaches.

"Thanks." Billy debates making a beeline for the door, but then remembers that this man has to be loaded, so he waits.

"Real good." The man reaches out, large, rough hands rubbing against Billy's bare bicep. "I want to employ you," he says, "if you're interested, of course. I need a babydoll like you at home with me."

"You want me to be your sugar baby?" The big man chuckled, hot breath suddenly hitting Billy so strong he could almost taste the cigar on his lips.

"No, Baby, I want you to be my private stripper. You wouldn't have to live with me. In fact, you would be paid well enough to live wherever you wanted to." The man pulled Billy closer, the distance between them so close they could hear each other's hearts beating. "Of course, if you wanted to be my main baby, that could also be arranged."

The doors smacked open. In the doorway stood Billy's roommate, Steve Harrington. Lately, when Steve would come to pick up Billy in the mornings, he would come inside and flirt with the bartender who, despite her better judgement, would stay behind and humor him. He walked in obliviously, smock still on, paints covering his arms and face, and hair still perfect. It must have been a long night in the studio. Billy sighed as he saw him. Steve looked in his direction, and, upon seeing the big man, a light terror crossed his face. He walked to the bar.

"Listen, I've got to go—"

"I'm going to come here every night until you give me a definite answer." The man's tone grew eerily serious. "If he's your boyfriend," a thick finger jutted out towards Steve, "that's fine, I don't care, but you will give me a yes or a no." The mans face bore into Billy's for a moment, the stern eye contact they shared sending familiar shivers down his spine. The man broke into a smirk, next, reaching up to give Billy's cheek a squeeze before walking out the door.

In the few, brief, reflective moments after the man had left, Billy decided something: he didn't like being called Baby. Anger flared through him, solely habitually at this point, but he managed to swallow it down. He'd save it for later, when he and Steve were alone and he could punch clean through the wall without weary watchers. Billy shook his head clear like and etch-a-sketch. With a sigh, he looked over to the bar. Steve rose out of his seat with a start, nearly falling over himself as he rushed to Billy's side.

"B, what was that? _Who _was that?"

"His name is Doug D'Orzo." Jenny said, coming out from behind the bar. "He's a..." she put her hands on her hips, a blonde ponytail daring to swing out from behind her, "well, he's a very powerful man around these parts." Billy scoffed, mirroring Jenny's stance.

"He better fucking be important. No one talks to me like that." He paused for a moment. "Well, at least no one that can't pay me well for going by pet names."

"Oh, don't worry about that. Dougie is loaded for sure." If nothing else, this brought him solace. Billy's eyes wandered back to Steve, who was already watching him intently. In his eyes, Billy could see confusion and overwhelming concern, but that pissed Billy off more than made him want to talk.

"Let's just go home." Again, Billy found himself shaking his head clean, trying to clear out all the newfound anger and bitterness. Steve, eyebrows furrowed, still watching Billy fervently, just nodded.


	2. 2

"Are you ready to talk about it?" Steve had been on Billy's ass ever since that morning. It was about noon now, and Billy was in hell.

"No, I'm not _ready to talk about it_," he responded, mocking Steve's tone so hard that he almost feared emotional damage. Defeat crossed Steve's face. The pair went back to picking at old take-out in silence. Billy sighed loudly and pulled a smoke out of his shirt pocket. He gestured towards Steve, asking if he wanted one, but he shook his head. Silently, Billy lit up and breathed out towards the ceiling. It was quiet. Billy shut his eyes.

"He was so big," Steve whispered, so quiet that the other boy almost didn't hear him. But he did.

"Alright," Billy began, rising angrily to his feet. "Is this what you want, Harrington? Do you want me to talk? To share my fucking _feelings_?"

"Billy—"

"No. No, now you've got me going." He paced around the tiny studio apartment, debating on what he was going to do. Steve watched in terror. "You want me to..." he gestured wildly, "to talk about it? Talk about what happened with good old _Dougie_? Huh? Would that make you happy, _Princess_?" Steve winced at his petty nickname. Billy huffed harshly on his cigarette, heat flaring throughout his body.

"Look, I just meant that you might feel better if you talked about it," Steve tried. "Like..." he trailed off, his voice falling down to a whisper, "like maybe you wouldn't hit anything if you talked about it." That one got him.

"Oh, so Princess doesn't want me to hit anything?" he yelled, his voice reverberating intensely. "Huh? You don't want me to mess up that pretty little face of yours?"

"B, I know you aren't going to hit me." For a moment, just hearing that, seeing the unabashed assurance on Steve's face, it caused the anger to leave him. Billy paused in his tracks, looking over at his roommate, who was now on his feet, daring to close the distance between them. Steve didn't touch him—they both knew that Billy would go catatonic if he did—but the look in in Steve's eyes was what really got to Billy. Genuine concern and love.

"Fuck's sake," he sighed. "The bastard offered me a job. Promised to pay me really well. He also called me 'Baby,' which," Billy paused to take a drag, shaking his head and licking his teeth as he thought about the large man, "that dog ain't gonna hunt."

"Are you gonna take the job?" Steve assumed his "mom position": hands on hips, eyebrows slightly raised, hair flopping lightly into his eyes, and typically with something draped over his shoulder. (Dustin jokingly labelled it this a few years back, and it became such a big thing that Steve's family began egging him about it.) Billy chuckled.

"Of course I'm going to take it." He furthered the distance between him, puffing his cigarette as he drew closer to the walls. "We're both working two fucking jobs just to sit on the fucking pull-out mattress and eat shitty Chinese food." Both of them shared a knowing silence. Billy propped himself against the door frame, taking another, painfully long drag.

"Does that mean you're gonna quit at the club?"

"No. Although," he laughed, flicking the butt, smirking in spite of himself, "maybe I should."

"You do seem to enjoy it there," Steve tried, yet again daring to close the gap. "Your other job, then?"

"Fuck no." He looked back to Steve. "You like getting those free oil changes, right? Can't get those if I'm not working at the shop."

"I do have to flirt with that one guy in order to get them, though." Steve chuckled. "What's that guy's name?"

"Gene."

"_Gene_. Yes. Yuck." Steve shook his head. The pair shared calm laughter. Yet again, Steve closed the gap. "Look, I'm not..." he sighed, "I don't want to force you to do anything."

"You're not...? I don't know why you'd think that you were."

"No, I know, I know that you could totally just, like, drop everything and, I don't know—" Steve froze, suddenly becoming very aware of what he was saying, "I just feel like...well, I don't want to..."

"Steve." Billy was the one who finally closed the gap, placing a firm hand on Steve's shoulder. "You're not burdening me in any way, if that's what you're trying to say." Steve's head fell and Billy knew he'd struck the nail on the head. "If I genuinely didn't want this job, I wouldn't take it. To be honest, I think it might be kinda fun." Billy smirked, thinking about how much fun private dancing could be. And then he thought about Doug. And how big Doug's coat was. And how rich Doug must be. And how much they _needed_ a big, fluffy check.

"Are you gonna keep living here?" Steve said it so quietly it sounded like a prayer. Like he was praying that they could stay together.

"Duh." Steve finally looked back up, the pair sharing warm, oddly intimate eye contact. Billy's hand slid down to Steve's bicep, giving it a tight squeeze, as if to say _I'm not going anywhere without you_. They shared an equally intimate smile, and Billy patted Steve's arm. "Don't you have work soon?"

"Oh shit, what time is it?" Steve looked down at his watch. "Fuck! Duty calls."

"Better answer, then." Steve sprinted into the bathroom, and, within a surprisingly short window of time, Steve exited the bathroom in full mall-cop uniform. With another, vice versa arm pat, Steve sprinted out the door.

Alone at last. Billy sunk harshly into the deck chair that sat next to the door. _"That's your smoking chair,"_ Steve had said jokingly. Billy smiled at the memory. He pulled another smoke out, lighting it in the same, swift motion. Smoke filtered into his lungs as he breathed heavily. Alone at last. Alone.

Billy started thinking about Doug again. He was so..._big_. He'd seen big people before, but Doug felt like something else altogether. Like that fucking big slug in those movies the kids watched...what was it called? Didn't matter. _Doug_ didn't matter. Did he? Doug was probably the thing that would ensure his and Steve's meals for the next few months, something that he couldn't promise, even with their four combined paychecks. Billy buried his face in his hands.

Tears pricked at his eyes. Why was he crying? He didn't cry. Emotions were for pussies, and Billy wasn't a pussy. He got pussy. God, that was fucking dumb. What was he thinking?

He stood up. Shook his head again. Tried to clear himself out. He might have shaken himself too hard. Why was he crying? He didn't cry. He felt more like screaming than crying. He wanted to hit something.

And so he did.


	3. 3

"Have you considered my offer, Baby?" There was that nickname again. Billy's eyes flickered towards the door. The sun wasn't quite out yet, but, upon looking to the bar, he saw that Steve was already there. And so was Amanda, the bartender. Amanda was giggling.

"I have," he smirked.

"And?"

"And...I accept." The big man grinned. "_But_, I have conditions."

"I'm offering you the job of a _fucking lifetime_, and you have the balls to 'yes, and' me?" he hissed, brows knitting together so harshly Billy could no longer see his eyes. He questioned, for a moment, whether or not this would get violent. It felt like it was heading in that direction.

"Yes." Billy stood his ground. Doug didn't say anything for a hot minute. He didn't move at all. Billy thought he might not even be _breathing_. Finally, the big man smirked.

"You're lucky you're so goddamn cute." Oddly enough, Billy felt relief run through his body. "What are your conditions?"

"Well, I want to live with my roommate still." Doug turned to look at Steve, a grunt and a sigh leaving him as he labored with this task. He turned back to face Billy with another sigh.

"Done."

"And I want to keep working here."

"Naturally."

"And I don't want to be called 'Baby' anymore." The big man laughed deeply at this.

"Well then, what _can_ I call you?"

"I don't fucking know. Not 'Baby.'"

"Hmm...how about Barbie?" Billy paused, needing a moment to think. "You look like a Barbie doll."

"You're not wrong." The smaller man placed a hand to his chin, as though the new name wasn't the greatest thing he'd heard. He wondered if Steve would start calling him Barbie, too, but then decided that he would _hate it_ if Steve called him Barbie. "Alright."

"Barbie is good?" Billy nodded. "Fantastic. Is that all of your grievances?"

"No, there's one more," he said, getting extremely close to the man who could crush him in a second. "You can't fucking touch me. Not without my permission. I can touch you, but that's _it_." Doug laughed again. Billy knew he was taking a risk by asking this, but he didn't fucking care anymore. He leaned back, putting space between them. Doug put a fat hand over his eyes, and, in a moment of weakness, Billy looked to Steve. And the look in his eyes? Oh god. Steve looked as though Billy had kissed their lives away.

And that's when it hit him. They _really needed this_. Steve had assured him that, if he wasn't really comfortable with taking this job, it wasn't a big deal. As though, if Billy didn't want to, they could make it by with what they were doing now. But, looking at Steve, who looked like he was screaming from the outside in, he realized that what Steve had said was all lies. Billy didn't know whether to be furious or grateful.

"Fuck me, you're gonna be a job and a half." The big man shook his head and began laughing. "But," he shrugged, "what can I say? I like 'em stubborn." Billy and Steve both sighed audibly. He decided that he was going to decimate Steve later.

"So is that a yes?" he flirted, trying to make up for lost time.

"You're so damn beautiful, how can I say no?"

* * *

Billy rode with Doug to his place. He had considered giving Steve his self-proclaimed sex-sack backpack, the one filled with his dirty work clothes and emergency condoms, but decided against it. He was too mad at Steve to even look at the fucker for the time being, so now the satchel sat at his feet.

"Here we are," Doug purred. He pulled his car to a stop. Billy tried to open the car door, only to find it locked.

"Um—"

"Let me get the door for my _Barbie doll_." Billy suddenly felt nauseous. And heinously angry. Maybe this wasn't the best idea.

Doug, after much labor, came around to free his doll. He bowed egregiously as Billy exited the car.

"Holy shit." The house? _Huge_. Very fitting for Doug. It looked like a palace—well, he figured, it was one. A ginormous front door, big bay windows, and Herculean statues smattered all along the front walkway. Corinthian columns. Marble and masonry everywhere.

"Do you like it?" Doug laughed deeply. "It took a pretty penny to get it lookin' this swank." Suddenly, a sex-sack, shorts, and a tank top seemed like rags compared to the place that this apparent pauper had wormed his way into. Billy was awestricken. His mouth parted. He genuinely did want to say something, but words refused to come out. Doug chuckled again. Gently, and making a point not to touch him, Doug led Billy inside.

"Good afternoon Master D—" a petite blond man paused upon seeing Billy. "Oh! Is this the new dancer?"

"Yes. Frankie, this is..." Doug turned, as if to ask for Billy's name, but shook his head lightly. "This is Barbie." Frankie extended a delicate hand, and Billy shook it harshly. His hands were so soft. Billy wondered what Frankie did, _if anything_, to keep his hands so supple.

"It's lovely to meet you, Barbie." Frankie said, smiling wider than his small face allowed. "Master, should I show him around?"

"That would be wonderful. I have some things to get in order anyhow." Doug's large stature turned to face Billy. "If you need anything, tell Frankie and it will be arranged. I assume you have other..._commitments_ to attend to soon, so feel free to leave as needed." He leered down, smile ominous, nearly close enough to touch Billy's cheek. "I hope to see you again soon."

* * *

"Okay, wait, _what_?" Steve sat across from him in the posh restaurant, twitching with excitement in his seat.

"So this fucking dense-ass redhead turns to me and says, 'Barbie, don't you know what a ball-change is?' And I said, 'Suzanne, if I didn't know how to step-ball-change, would I have this fucking job?'" Billy bragged. Steve giggled—he _giggled_—at what Billy was saying.

"What happened next?" Both parts of this conversation seemed to be basking in what the other had to offer.

"Well," he started, leaning back in the booth, "I told Dougie that I didn't want a fucking choreographer, and that, 'I'm more than capable of making my own routines,' and so he _fired_ her! Right there!"

"Holy shit! Billy you got someone fired!" Steve's voice fell to an excited whisper.

"Eh, she'll find work." He took a drag from his cigarette. "She's pretty, talented, and reasonably fuckable. She'll do fine." Steve was reeling. This was amazing! Who knew being a private dancer could be so exciting?

"Uh, sirs?" A chubby waitress addressed them. "Sorry to interrupt, but here's your check." She slid a thin black book towards the center of the table. "Please, take your time. No rush at all." Billy could have sworn that she winked at Steve, but he tried not to think too much of it. Billy picked up the thin slip.

"What's the damage, B?" He didn't want to say. And, he decided, he didn't have to. Smirking, Billy opened his wallet, took out the new, pristine piece-of-plastic, and slid it into the tab. "Woah, when did you get a credit card? I thought we agreed to go credit free."

"Doug signed me up for it," he gushed. "It's a lot easier than toting around cash, and, with the size of the check I got this morning?" he smirked again. "That's far too much cash to carry around all at once."

"I can't believe this," Steve said, running a hand through his hair. "I still can't believe we're _here_! God, we've been dreaming about coming to this place since we moved here."

"Yeah, and I thought I'd be covering your ass with the first check from my illustrious acting career." Billy scoffed. "Look how we turned out."

"Well, I mean, if you really think about it, it's still a check from your illustrious acting career." Billy laughed at that one. "I mean, right?"

"Yeah, you're right." The two boys smiled at each other, a newfound warmth and happiness spreading through their bodies. They were _safe_. Billy was _finally_ making enough money to cover their asses, and with the frequency that Doug promised to issue these checks, they would be safe for a while. "Hey, you know what?"

"What?" Steve asked, eyes flickering with elation. Billy grinned.

"Let's go shopping."


	4. 4

Tonight was a big night at the club. About once a year or so, Jenny manages to convince a woman, probably one of her friends, into having her bachelorette party at the club. And the event was a blowout. Jenny allowed each of her regular male dancers to perform solo dances, and she hired about 10 extra guys to back them up.

Billy was getting _two_ solo songs. He felt electric.

"Jen, is it alright if I stay and watch tonight?" Steve had asked as he took Billy in that evening. "B's got those solos, and I just helped him work really hard on them, and...I don't know, I just...please?"

"I can do you one better," she said, a mischievous glimmer in her eyes. "You can work it."

* * *

"Steve? What are you doing back here?" Steve had barged into Billy's dressing room in a panic.

"Jenny said that I have to work this event, and I don't know where to go, and she said that you knew where everything was, and I'm just freaking out a little bit, and I feel like I need to shave but I don't know if that's a thing, and—"

"Woah, Princess," Billy said, walking over to place his hands on Steve's shoulders. "You've got nothing to worry about. I'm kind of a powerhouse 'round these parts, and as long as you stick with me, you're golden." Steve heaved and threatened to rest his head on Billy's shoulder. Billy let him.

"I'm just..." Steve grunted. "I'm not a performer, you know? Like, the last time I did one of these fucking things I nearly fell off the stage." Steve looked up into Billy's eyes. "Do you remember that?"

"Yes, I remember vividly." There was a hot second that night in which Steve had fallen over himself, as he is wont to do, and he_ ate it_. Fortunately, he managed to pull it off alright, twisting himself in a way that suggested it might have been deliberate, but Billy knew better. Billy was also on stage—they were both backup dancers for a much more qualified man—and the pair made knowing eye contact as it happened. _We can't afford a trip to the hospital_, his face said, _holy fuck, why am I so goddamn clumsy?_

"Jenny said that I would just have to come out for the first song and then I could go serve drinks, but..." he hesitated, leaning further into Billy's shoulder.

"But what?" Billy asked, beginning to rub his thumbs against Steve's arms comfortingly. "You just have to come out and stand there and look pretty. And you're good at that, Princess. You've got nothing to worry about."

"I don't want it to happen again," he said, his voice falling so quiet it was more of a breath than a whisper. Billy sighed and pulled Steve into his arms.

"You know I'm shit at consoling you, Harrington," he whispered. Steve scoffed, looping his arms around Billy's waist.

"Oddly enough, I have performance anxiety." The pair shared intimate laughter at the situation they found themselves in. They stood like that for a few moments, enjoying the comfort that they shared.

"Come on," Billy said, smacking Steve harshly on the back, "let's get you dressed."

* * *

It's 10:05 on the dot when the lights finally dim. A plethora of women let out giddy squeals and the spotlights come alive all at once. This was it. The show was beginning.

The music began blasting through the speakers, an easily recognizable riff pouring out among a simple drum line. Once the girls realized what the song was, everyone was on their feet. Suddenly, men started coming out from behind the curtains, each of them dressed in a crisp suit. The women were losing their _minds_.

On the left and right sides of the stage, there were symmetrical lines of men. Three of them on each side, to be exact. Steve was on the middle left in a suit that was far too big for him. He looked stressed out of his goddamn mind. Nervously, his knees and head bounced simultaneously to the beat. As the verse began, the first solo dancer came out.

His name was George, but his stage name was "Sweet Giovanni." Steve had asked him about why on earth he would call himself that, and George laughed and placed an encompassing hand on Steve's shoulder.

_"Kid, you ever heard of Godiva? Ghiradelli? Goobers?" _Steve nodded._ "What do they all got in common?"_

_"Chocolate?"_

_"And?"_

_"The...letter 'g'?"_

_"Exactly. And what do I got in common with them?"_

_"Uh—"_

_"I'm chocolate, and my name starts with the letter 'g'. Giovanni sounds fancier than George. My wife came up with the 'Sweet' part."_ George smiled fondly. _"It just kinda stuck."_

Steve watched in admiration as Sweet Giovanni began grinding the stage floor. His hair was cropped short, shaved nearly to the scalp, beard shaved down to the same length. He was so _buff_. Jesus Christ, this man made Steve look like a twig. And seeing him like this made Steve feel even more insecure. His marines tattoo was caked in glitter, his muscles flexed and glimmered under the spotlights, and his ass just looked so_ tight_ in his tux leotard. He was one of Jenny's bridal-bash hirees, and Steve could see why. George was so_ hot_.

Oh fuck, George was hot.

Was Steve gay? Oh shit. How do you know? When do you realize? Oh fuck.

Before he could begin to consider these new, strange feelings, another man came out.

"What's up ladies?!" he yelled. The women nearly exploded. This was Dean, and honestly, Dean was also very fucking hot.

_"Lemme tell you why they keep hiring me,"_ he had admitted to Steve one night after another bachelorette party,_ "The chicks? They can't get enough of my sex hair."_ Dean, whose actual name was Theodore, fluffed up a Jon Bon Jovi-sized mullet. _"That, and I look like every rock star they wanna fuck."_

Steve looked at him now. He was removing tight leather pants and a matching vest to reveal another, spandex-woven tuxedo leotard. Dean fluffed his hair, the same way he'd done the night he and Steve had talked, and the same way he did every time he performed.

Did Steve want to fuck him? He wasn't sure. This was all still very confusing. He just looked _so much_ like Jon Bon Jovi. And Slash. And...Eddie Van Halen? Did Steve want to fuck Eddie Van Halen? Maybe it was just Dean he wanted to fuck. Or...maybe it was the hair...?

Another man came out. Finally, he was one of Jenny's regulars. It was almost comforting for Steve to see his face.

"Where's the bride-to-be?" The man, the myth, the legend, Saint Romeo. "C'mere, Baby Girl!" He then proceeded to give the practically-wedded woman a lap dance.

Saint was practically mythos around these parts. He looked just like Tom Selleck, if Tom Selleck was hispanic and about 15% hairier. Saint was one of the first people that Jenny hired, and the only one from the original bunch to stick around. There were rumors that he and Jenny had a fling. There were also rumors that he and Amanda, who had also been around nearly as long as Saint, had a fling. Hell, there were rumors that he was _gay_. Maybe Steve should ask him about that. No, he decided, that would be bad. If _anybody_ knew that Steve was considering a less-than-adored sexuality, he wouldn't hear the end of it. Well, maybe he could at least tell Billy.

And that's when Billy_ finally_ came out. Seeing him made the nausea—the one that Steve hadn't even noticed until it was assuaged—disappear. Maybe he should be alarmed by the amount of comfort seeing another man gave him.

Unlike the other dancers, who had dropped a few items of clothing before borderline violating the future-bride, Billy came out already in his leotard. And the girls were _eating him alive_. They were beginning to scream so loud, Steve's ears were starting to hurt. Billy smirked as he came onstage, the lights illuminating him in a god-like manner. He was blindingly beautiful. Already glistening with the sheen of various oils and vaselines, the stage itself seemed to idolize him. He grinded upon the fiancee, who was blushing from head to toe at this point. His arms flexed, and Steve felt something within him want to rub all over those arms. And those thighs. And his_ torso_, god.

Oh no. Had Steve been secretly harboring feelings for his roomate this whole time? Holy shit.

As if on cue, Billy turned to walk back upstage and stand with the other solo dancers for the night. They made eye contact. Billy winked at him. In a panic, Steve just smiled real big. Was that...butterflies? Was Steve really having butterflies right now? Oh fuck.

"Alright, ladies," Billy began once he'd been given a mic, "I know how hard it is to keep your hands to yourselves—" the women squealed. "Yeah, exactly." He chuckled. "I know it's hard...and that's why I'm here to tell you: don't do it!" Steve could swear that the walls were vibrating with screams at this point.

Amidst all the lustful caterwaul, Steve couldn't keep his eyes off Billy. He really did seem to own the stage. And, fuck, did he look _good_.

The song stopped abruptly. Billy dropped the mic. Suddenly, oh my god, Billy ripped off his leotard to reveal only a banana hammock and a bow tie collar. His abs shimmered in the lights, and his face was shining with pride and lust.

Yeah, he was for sure hiding some pretty robust feelings for Billy. Ugh. Gag me.

The men filed backstage after the uproar of applause and cheers, and some trash rock began playing to fill the gaps between performances. Steve pulled over into the wings as he stepped off stage, trying to catch his breath and regain what little composure he could muster.

"See?" Billy said, smacking a shiny hand on Steve's shaking shoulder, "Wasn't so bad, was it?"

"Yeah...I...I guess not." Oh god. What should he do? Now that he knew he had these feelings, should he tell Billy? He should at least tell him that he's questioning. Or...would that be weird? Why did this have to be so hard?

"Woah, are you alright?" Billy asked, reading Steve like a book. "What's going on? You look like you've got steam blowing out of your ears, dude."

"Nothing," he lied, "I'm just...I'm still pretty, uh, shellshocked, I guess." Visibly not buying it, but being too preoccupied with tonight's festivities to look into it, Billy squeezed Steve's shoulder. Steve nearly yelped.

"Come on, big guy. Let's get you in your spandex, huh?" Billy chuckled, swinging an arm around Steve's wilting frame and walking him to his dressing room. "Maybe, uh," he pinched at the large space between Steve's arm and shoulder pads, "maybe it'll fit you better than this fucking tarp of a suit, yeah?"


	5. 5

Steve sat at the bar, his silver platter clinking against the countertop as he sunk down. Amanda was too preoccupied watching one of the performers to pay attention to him, but, he guessed, that wasn't what he should really be concerned about.

He yanked at the crotch of his leotard subconsciously. This was the worst night ever.

_"How's it fitting?"_ Billy had asked as the boys changed together. Oh fuck, now that there was a paper-thin fabric on his dick, he realized that he was hard. _Very_ hard.

_"Uh, I'm—it's, uh, I'm, everything is fine."_ God, more stuttering and Steve would kill himself.

_"Lemme get a look at you."_ No. No. Absolutely not. Billy placed a hand on his shoulder and Steve turned around without hesitation. Ugh.

_"You look—"_ Billy's eyes fell on Steve's package. _"Holy shit. Dude..."_ Steve buried his head in his hands. He felt like the sun. This was hell.

_"Can we not talk about it?"_ he tried to say, his words coming out muffled from behind his hands.

_"Um..."_ Billy began laughing. It seemed impossible, but Steve shrunk even further into himself. And, here's the wild thing, Steve felt himself get _even harder_ at the situation he found himself in. What the fuck was going on with him today? _"Listen, bud, I..." He exhaled a breath. "I don't have time to help you work through this...well, whatever it is you're going through."_ There was a distinct jangle of keys and a smacking noise. _"Here's the keys to this room. I've got to get ready to go out. Do...whatever you need to."_

Steve's head fell into his hands again. He thought about running over to Jenny and begging to be let off early, but then he remembered the check that would be coming from this. Not that he needed it anymore, now that Billy was the breadwinner of their house.

Billy. _Fuck_. What was Steve going to do?

"Richie looks so good up there, don't you think?" Amanda said, her eyes never leaving the stage. Ah yes, Richie. Steve looked up at Richie. He was a thin, wisp of a man. His hair was long, grown out into a full, manicured afro, and his 'fro bounced to the beat as he performed Jackson-esque moves to a song that wasn't by Michael Jackson.

_"I couldn't do that shit,"_ Billy had said one night after a particularly Richie-heavy bachelorette party. _"_He _can barely do that shit. Fuck me, I want to be able to do those dance moves without being called white trash."_ Both of the boys were heinously drunk in their apartment that night, and Steve giggled as Billy rose to his feet, trying to do his best moonwalk.

_"You're too drunk to be doin' complicated moves."_

_"Fuck you."_ Billy's focus was completely on his feet._ "Kick and ball-change. Kick and ball-change."_ He began groping himself, humping the air to the music that was floating aimlessly around their small space. Steve kept giggling, and after a while, ended up joining Billy on the dance floor.

"For sure," he finally responded. Steve decided that he wasn't attracted to Richie. Or maybe he was? No, he wasn't. Too thin. But he sure was fun to watch. _Kick and ball-change. Kick and ball-change._

"What's up, Spandex Boy?" Amanda joked, finally looking over at Steve.

"Ha ha," he sneered. "Waiting for Billy. Juan said he could cover me on drinks until his song was over."

"Oh, awesome." They smiled at one another. Trash rock began to fill the club again as Richie took his leave. "It's really cool how you guys are so supportive of each other."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, Billy's always talking about your art exhibits and stuff, and you're always coming to watch him perform." Steve smiled to himself. "How's that going, by the way?"

"What?"

"Your art. Don't you have an exhibit coming up?"

"I do!" Steve sat up excitedly. "It's in a week, yeah."

"And it's...surrealism...right?" she asked, the questioning tone so evident in her voice that Steve almost wanted to congratulate her for remembering correctly.

"Yep."

"Like the melting clocks?"

"Exactly," he laughed. "Although, don't get your expectations up that high. That is, if you plan on coming."

"Oh, I'll definitely be there, my dude." She smiled warmly at him.

"Really?"

"Wouldn't miss it!" she assured, the smile on her face so genuine that Steve's heart swelled. But, with girls, Steve knew to keep his cards close to his chest.

"Thanks, pal." Pal? Ugh. Fuck. Wait, did he like Amanda? He thought he did. If he didn't, he'd wasted damn near half a year flirting with her. She chuckled.

"I think everyone is going. Billy couldn't shut up about it last night, and lord knows everyone is curious what all the fuss is about."

"Everyone?"

"Yeah. I think Dean and Georgie might even go," she confessed, leaning against the counter. "In fact, I know Georgie is going. He's bringing his wife." Great. Now Steve was getting nervous.

"Oh, awesome!" he lied easily.

"I'm really excited. I can't wait to see what it is that you actually do when you're not here."

"Well, I do have an actual job, you know." He smirked at her. "Two, in fact. I can't afford this lavish lifestyle solely on commissions and confused-but-enthused buyers." The pair chuckled at the phrase Steve had used. During Steve's last exhibition, all of his friends from Hawkins came up to support him, which was lovely, but Max watched Steve make one of his sparse sales and coined the phrase.

_"It's so...new. And different. Don't you think so, Barbara?"_

_"Oh, definitely. It's new age. It's got something...something inspired."_ The snobby couple turned to look at Steve, who was watching them drop adjectives. Max was chuckling around the corner, observing the whole thing from a careful distance.

_"Hi, I'm—"_

_"Oh, are you the artist? We'd love to buy this piece."_ They worked out how and when to pay, and, once the couple had cleared the area, Max stepped out, her curious eyes flickering between the painting and the couple.

_"Is that what they're always like?"_ Steve laughed and nodded.

_"To me, this is just a cat with a human face, but to them, it's some kind of symbolism."_ Steve shrugged his shoulders and glanced at the painting that was now this month's rent. _"I don't ask questions, I just take their money."_

_"They're like...confused, but enthused. Like when you find a decent shirt at a thrift store, right?"_

_"Exactly. God, I would pay any amount to see face cat on a shirt."_ They laughed it off, but later, Steve heard Max pitch Face Cat Shirts to the Party, who legitimately considered making them. Steve smiled warmly at the memory. God, he missed them.

"Who knows?" Amanda said, shrugging. "Maybe _I'll_ buy something."

"I'll laugh in your face," he said. "All of my stuff is garbage." She glared at him, and they shared oddly intimidating eye contact for a second before breaking away in laughter.

"I guess I'll have to be the judge of that."

As if on cue, Amanda finished their conversation as the lights dimmed for the next dancer.

"Ladies and women, give it up for Mattel's Marvel, Barbie!" Steve gut laughed. Billy hadn't mentioned that he'd started using Barbie for a stage name, but, then again, he hadn't needed to until Doug came into his life. _Doug_. Did Steve like Doug? He should. Doug was the one thing standing between him and poverty. Now that he was thinking about it, Steve had never officially met Doug. Although, it was really none of his business. But he did want to. Eventually.

The song started, and Billy came out as the words began. He was dressed fairly normally: a red, satin shirt buttoned dangerously high, a denim jacket, supremely tight jeans, and a drop-earring with a blade on the end. Steve's breath hitched in his throat. His steps followed the beat of the song, and in his left hand was a wooden chair. He slung down the seat at center stage, his hips swinging in a large circle as he rounded to the front of the prop. Guitar riffs began to play, and Steve watched as Billy shook his head along to the strumming. As the song began to take off, Billy rose to his feet, walking back behind the chair, his ass jutting out far and wide, as though he had bouncing buns in his pants. Steve could feel himself beginning to get hard again.

"Wow, he's really good," Amanda muttered, but, at this point, Steve wasn't really paying attention. Billy had all of him wrapped up in the pit of his ass-cheek pocket. "Have you seen him before," she continued, "you know, like this?"

"Uh huh," Steve replied offhandedly. He almost dared to wave her off, but even that seemed like it might be too much of a distraction from Billy to risk it.

Gently, slowly, carefully, Billy began to remove his clothes. First, his jacket, which he tossed at the bride. God, what Steve wouldn't give to be that woman right now. Then, a couple buttons on his shirt were undone. It became clear very quickly that this was more of a strip tease than a strip show.

For Steve, the real butt of this situation was that he_ knew_ what was going to happen. He and Billy had worked for hours on this routine. Days, even. The pair had spent their little free time together listening to this fucking song on repeat, nearly running the grooves off the track. They'd been so intimate in these moments, so close, so honest.

_"You look like you're trying to piss,"_ Steve had said at one point, to which, instead of throwing a fit like he normally does, Billy laughed. He laughed really hard. The poor dude was spread so thin, he was so clearly exhausted. Steve's heart ached.

By the time Steve snapped out of his episode, the chanting was beginning.

"Stroke! Stroke!" the horny girls yelled, "Stroke! Stroke!" Billy was eating them up, and they were swallowing him whole. He yelled, a loud, excited woo as the women screamed right back at him. Finally, he was stripped down to a red, glimmering cock sock. Billy's package shook and shuttered as his thrust his hips wildly in the air.

The song ended abruptly, with Billy just plopping back down into the chair as the final lyrics came out of the speakers. A smirk was written so heavily into his features that Steve could see it from the back of the room.

And, although he might not want to admit it, Steve blushed when Billy winked at him.

The star rose to his feet and bowed before making his way off stage. Steve ran back to shower Billy with so many compliments that one or both of them would drown.


	6. 6

a/n: how bout that new season? if you haven't watched it, please watch it before reading this chapter! mild spoilers ahead!

* * *

Steve's exhibit was happening on the same night as a big Doug performance for Billy. Of course, Billy had talked about it with Doug, and not only was he wholly supportive, he was coming to the exhibition himself.

_"I imagine he'll invite you over for the show,"_ Billy had said, smirking like he does. _"He'll love your stuff and want to reward you the best way he knows how."_

_"Money?"_

_"No, asshole, me!"_ Steve smiled. He tugged at his turtleneck comically. Surprisingly, the room was rather full. Although, he didn't allow himself to forget that he wasn't the only one displaying art here tonight. Jeromy, one of Steve's classmates and an all-around asshole, was also showing off tonight. His stuff was more...exposed.

"What's this one about, Jeromy?" Steve heard an effeminate voice ask from across the room.

"It's about you, Kitten." A giggle echoed throughout the room. Steve gagged. He glanced around, his eyes becoming desperate to find someone he knew.

But there was no one. Sure, people were looking at his art, but they were all strangers.

Where were his friends? Dustin said that he and the others would be there, "but only after AV club," and they should be here by now. Right?

Where was Billy? Was he coming with Doug? Steve knew that he was coming, he had to come. Right? Billy was his fucking roommate, he had to come. There was no way he'd skip out on this. Hell, Billy was present in way too many of these pieces for him not to come. Right?

Steve began to pace the floor, smiling anxiously at anyone who looked at him. Should he call Billy? Maybe he'd forgotten about the whole thing. Sounded like something he would do. Or maybe he was asleep. They were both working two jobs, so it wasn't too far out of reach he guessed.

Where was he? Where was anyone?

"Um...?" he heard behind him before a finger jabbed him in the shoulder violently. He rotated around, hopeful that he'd been saved by the bell, and that Billy was the one who was threatening to worm between his joints, but to no avail. Mere inches from his face was an old woman.

"Can I help you?"

"Yes. I want to buy this...uh...car painting...?" She jutted a bony finger in the opposite direction.

"Oh, do you mean the one at the diner?" Her eyes lit up and she stepped closer. She smelled of expensive cigars. Steve wondered how much money this woman had, but tried not to dwell on it.

"Yes, exactly!" She smiled warmly. "It reminds me of a diner back home." The pair shared another, comfortingly warm smile. Steve looked over to the wall where the painting lived.

The painting in question was one of Steve's favorites. Honestly, the idea of selling it kind of pained him. He was out with Nancy when he'd gotten the inspiration. They were at a diner just outside of Hawkins; it had become their favorite place to get together and catch up after the split. Steve had always been a little bit hesitant about meeting with her like that. What if he caught feelings again? What if he fell back in love with her? Not like he'd ever fallen out of love with her, though. But she insisted that it would be good for them. That they_ needed_ this. Steve fought desperately with himself to not be the mushy-gushy helpless romantic he truly was, and he tried to just see all of this as dinner with a friend.

_"What if,"_ she'd began one night, her fingers pinching the straw of a milkshake, _"someone crashed through the window of this diner right now?"_

_"What do you mean?"_ The waitstaff had started to clean around them begrudgingly. It was incredibly close to closing time, but Nancy didn't seem to care.

_"I mean, what if someone—like a big truck driver or something—drove their car through the front window of this diner?"_

_"Well..."_ He paused for a moment, a devilish smile playing at his lips. _"Well, I guess it would become a drive in."_

"So can I buy it?" Steve blinked harshly, his mind still elbows-deep in memories.

"Uh, yeah! Sure! Just, uh, lemme—" he reached deeply into the breast pocket of his blazer and grasped for _anything_. "Here," he gave her a notepad and pencil, "could you write down your address and contact information?"

"You making a sale, big boy?" Billy slapped a firm, comforting hand on his shoulder and squeezed. The woman, mildly terrified by the new presence, jumped back as Billy approached. Steve's soul left his body.

"Billy," he whispered. He was finally here, holy shit. And, sweet Jesus, they were matching. Billy was wearing black_ leather pants_ and a black button-up which was, natch, buttoned dangerously low. He smelled so strongly of cologne, which was intense and off-putting, but oddly intoxicating. Steve was really fucking gay. Holy shit.

"Um...?" The woman held the notepad out in Steve's direction. She gave him a thin smile and fled quickly. Billy had for sure scared her away, but that wasn't really important. He had her contact info. He had made a sale. God, he felt like crying. It had been so fucking long.

"Which one did she buy?" Billy asked.

"Oh, uh..." Steve gulped habitually and nodded in the direction of the painting, "_Drive Insides_."

"Ah shit. I loved that one." Billy's hand, which was formerly on Steve's shoulder, was slowly drifting down his arm.

"Well, you know, I always take pictures of the paintings before I sell them." The taller boy nodded.

"Have you shown it to Nancy yet?" Steve began making his way to the painting, his steps heavy and slow. In truth, he didn't _want_ to show it to her. Quite honestly, although he viewed that night with a distinct melancholic fondness, he wasn't sure if Nancy was high or not. That's not to say that she'd picked up on the habit since they split, no, it was just the uncharacteristic actions she took that night. She was in rare form, one that Steve hadn't seen her in before or since. She was oozing with this..._giddiness_. She couldn't stop laughing. God, every terrible joke that Steve made was greeted with mockingly uproarious applause. That, and the fact that she was making the most abstract observations ever. Along with the bit about the drive-in, she'd also said things like, _"what if that dog turned into a goat?"_ or _"what if the clouds were actually cottoned candy, and we were all too far away from them to know the truth?"_

"I haven't."

"Well, you should. I bet she'd love it." Billy, whose hand had made its way to Steve's elbow before finally removing itself, spun on his heels. "What is even going on here? Like...these trees...they're blue?" Something Nancy had said. "And the car is really...distorted. How...what is this?" Billy had practically sprinted across the room to get face-to-face with the painting in question.

"It's uh...well I—I mean..." He was stuttering. He knew he was stuttering. Steve shook his head. "It's based off—"

"Yeah, no, I get it. The two of you had a conversation, she was really tired and stressed, you were an emotional wreck, it just feels like a very niche painting." Steve stood stunned for a second. Billy had read him like a book without even glancing away from the painting in question. It was simultaneously absolutely terrifying and absurdly flattering. Steve feared that he was blushing.

"...you're right."

"I think she'd appreciate it, nevertheless." Billy crossed his arms and looked over at Steve, a smirk—one that's different from the others, less about lust, more about pride—etched deep into his face. It was times like these that Steve remembered how smart Billy was. The pair shared eye contact, Billy's eyes glimmering and twinkling under exhibition lights. Slowly, so slowly that neither of them noticed, both of the boys' faces began cherrying.

The moment was wrecked by a crashing noise.

Softly, from a distance, a voice called out: "Oh, fuck me!"

The exhibit halted for a moment, the patrons and creators alike fearing what had happened, or, more importantly, what had broken.

Steve, though, he knew. A knowing smile tugged at his mouth, and, once things began to move again, he headed over to where he knew she was.

Robin was wearing a bright, striped shirt, full of yellows and purples and greens and a blaring, firetruck red. Her cheeks were that same, alarming color. As Steve rounded the corner, her apologetic glare turned to one of sheer joy. Her many chains jangled as she walked eagerly, but notably cautiously, over to him.

"Hey now, don't break everything I've worked on!" Steve joked, pulling Robin tightly into his arms. She chuckled, her face growing so hot that Steve could feel it through the hug.

"Sorry. I'm dangerously clumsy sometimes," she joked as they parted. "Is that—" she pointed at the sculpture that nearly toppled when she bumped it, "—'s that yours?"

"It is!" Steve chuckled lightly. The sculpture was the one he made right after he left Hawkins. Although he called it "_Pain Plants_," it was, of course, supposed to look like the demi-dog/gorgon/various other sub-species. It looked, to the average person, like a flower that bloomed to reveal a distressed person at the center of a spine-filled plant. To those who knew, they really appreciated it. To those who didn't, it made Steve look very tortured.

"Makes sense," she muttered offhandedly. "Where's Billy? Is he here?"

"Hi, Robin," the man in question said, waving as he showed himself. Another wide smile grew on her face, and they hugged.

"Have you been keeping the Dingus in check?"

"Oh, you know I have." They chuckled. Billy looked over at Steve for a moment, but then back down at Robin. The girl gasped, releasing Billy quickly and she walked to the other side of the demi-demo. Another, equally large smile shone brightly on her face as she pulled a girl behind her.

"Boys," she began, "this is Gina. Gina, meet Billy and Steve." Gina was a rather chunky little thing. She was cute though: chubby cheeks, big hips, plump breasts, and she barely cleared Robin's shoulders. Every time she smiled, Gina's eyes disappeared. Steve found this extremely endearing.

"Nice to meet you," Billy said, shaking her hand.

"Likewise," she replied, her voice as small as her stature.

"So, how do you know Robin?"

"Oh, uh," Gina glanced back at Robin, "we're..." The girls looked at each other, one's face worried, the other's amused.

Robin looked at him. She _really_ looked at him. They were making extremely intense eye contact. What was he missing? His eyes flicked between the two girls.

Oh.

"_Oh_." They're girlfriends. They're girlfriends! Holy shit. "Holy shit, Bud! Wow!" Relief crossed the girls' faces, but Billy still looked confused. Robin had for sure told Billy that she was gay, right?

Oh wait. _Robin_ is gay. _Robin's girlfriend_ is gay. And now _Steve_ is gay. This is perfect, right? He could talk through his feelings with Robin, get her to validate them, and then the two of them could come up with a game plan. Does he_ need_ a game plan? Probably. It had been a few days since his Gay Awakening and he still hadn't really come to terms with it. That's fair though, right? It's a big deal!

But all that wasn't important right now. Billy was looking at him, and he needed to address the situation. Steve slapped a loving hand on Billy's shoulder.

"I'll explain later. Let's, uh—oh! Come on, let me show you guys my garbage art!"


	7. 7

Steve scratched harshly at his open palm. From where he sat now, he could see a stage—it was a thrust, or so he had been told—with a shiny silver pole in the center. Sweat beads threatened to trickle down his face, but he tried his best to keep them in check.

Doug was over there. Just across from him. If he wanted to, the big, powerful man could swing a meaty claw at him and knock him to the floor. But Steve knew that he wouldn't do that. Right? Probably not something that Steve should be thinking about anyhow.

What he _should_ be thinking about is the fact that there were a bunch of kids bouncing between bars without his supervision. Albeit, Robin and Robin's girlfriend were with them, and they were mostly of age by now, it still made him terribly nervous.

_"Billy and I have some things to attend to,"_ Steve had told the group once the exhibition had ended, trying to be both stern and cool. _"He says that we'll be done in a few hours, do you think that you can handle yourselves alone in the Big City while we're gone?"_

_"Steve, I'm almost 18."_

_"Almost!"_ He tousled Lucas's hair, a light, paternal pride rushing through his body. _"It's still a big deal though. Not that I think that anything would happen to a horde of toddlers like you nerds, but—"_ he dropped to an embarrassed whisper _"—I worry about you guys."_

He wasn't in any position to really worry about them. In all honesty, not only were they all fully capable of handling themselves, but he and Billy had been gone for so long that it wasn't really his place to worry anymore. Sure, he missed them, and phone calls and written letters in between hang outs were enough to keep them in touch, but he wasn't really a big part of their lives anymore.

His mind drifted to Billy. Oh, Billy. The man he—

_No_. Don't go there.

Billy was the reason he decided to leave town, though. Without him, Steve would probably still be working in Hawkins. Maybe he would have gone to a community college? There's no telling. But there was no point in debating this now. Steve was here. And as long as he and Billy were together, they wouldn't be going back.

_"What have you got to show me this time, Harrington?"_ Steve and Billy had started working together after the whole..._incident_. While he was still healing both mentally, emotionally, and physically from what had happened, Billy realized that the pool wasn't the best place for him. In any other circumstance, it would be arguable that any place containing Steve wasn't the best place for him either, but a lot of things had changed in a short span of time.

_"It's nothing big...I just, uh, well, remember that doodle of the poppies that I showed you last week?"_

_"Of course."_ Since they were the main people on night shift other than a shitty assistant manager, Steve had taken to doing little sketches of various things that Billy would request. The poppies came out of left field from Billy's perspective; Steve had passed a memorial service on his way to work, one littered with the memorial opioid and astronomic tears, and the image had scorched into his mind.

_"Well, I decided to paint it."_ Steve proudly held the canvas out to Billy. This had also become a regular thing, as Billy, Steve's new best friend and full-disclosure confidant, was over the moon about anything and everything Steve created. _"What do you think?"_

_"It's..."_ Billy took the painting in his hands and held it closer. _"Holy shit."_ The sketch had evolved from a few, lone sprigs into what would become one of his first ventures into surrealism. It was a woman—Steve tried his best to recreate the one who had been crying the biggest tears, he assumed she was a daughter or a mistress—who he'd captured in the classic pop art crying woman pose, big tear and all, with converging lines of poppies tattooed onto her face. Upon her head was a crown of poppies over a black veil, and, the pièce de résistance, a single, red poppy sprouted out from her signature tear. Her teeth, upon examination, were yellowed, but had pearly crosses hidden among the buttery biters, and her mouth was filled with dark dirt.

For Billy, it was the intense attention to detail that really for him going. He hadn't known Steve for long at that point, but he would never have pegged him as the type to make something as intricate as this. And it was so good.

_"That bad, huh?"_ By this point, a decent hunk of time had passed. Billy hadn't said anything. Steve was starting to get worried. Maybe he should have kept this a secret? He'd managed to hide it from everyone else, which was especially hard as of late due to the new addition of a canvas, an easel, and a set of oils and brushes.

_"No, Steve..."_ Billy had called him by his first name. This was serious. _"Steve, this is breathtaking."_ When Billy looked up at him, they locked eyes, and Steve has never felt the same rush of elation as he felt that night. Now that he was thinking about it, that moment probably should have been an indication of just how gay he was.

But Steve didn't want to think about that right now. No, all of this am-I-gay-or-not teen-angst bullshit was going to be dumped on Robin in the next few days. Hopefully someone could help him sort this mess out. Robin seemed to be the only one to fit the bill at the moment.

"You ready?" Doug's voice broke so clearly through his internal monologue that he nearly jumped out of his skin. "Barbie should be coming out soon."

_Barbie_. That would take some getting used to. It had been a few months at this point, but it was still strange to think of Billy actually going by that name.

Steve nodded, smiling awkwardly at the big man sitting across from him.

Doug really did know this routine, though, as a few moments after he made that statement, Billy walked onto the thrust and clapped his hands together.

"Well, gentlemen," he began, "I'm excited to present my newest routine to you." He paused, his eyes sticking to Steve for a moment before flicking to Doug. "Well, I guess I'm really presenting it to you, Dougie. Skippy over there helped me choreograph it." His eyes hopped back to Steve's and he winked. Steve felt his cheeks begin to cherry. Billy bowed to the two men acting as his audience and head backstage again.

The music began to trickle out of the speakers above the stage. It was a country song this time, one somber and melancholy.

_"You want to do a country song?"_

_"Yeah. I mean, why not? Doug likes them. Especially this one."_ Billy spun the 45 between his fingers.

The man of the hour emerged from behind the curtain again. The lights shone down in a way that made him look angelic. He walked, slowly, precisely, rhythmically to the pole. Billy began to lip sync along with the woeful words.

He was so beautiful. Steve knew the dance by heart, naturally, so instead of watching him move, he watched him. God, he was so passionate about all of this. It made Steve want to cry.

_"Billy...why do you have so many bruises?"_ It was a simple enough question, right? Steve had anticipated him to just tell him about a fight he'd gotten into with some asshole at school.

_"Oh, I decked some asshole who was leaning on my car,"_ Billy lied, scoffing and crossing his arms. He sniffed and scratched at his nose. At this point in their friendship, Steve knew Billy's tell.

_"Oh, B..."_ Steve dared to close the gap, _"you look so cute when you lie."_

He wondered if Doug knew. Of course Doug didn't know—no one knew, and Steve was all too aware of that. Honestly, it was a miracle that Billy had opened up to Steve in the first place.

That was the first time he saw Billy cry. They spent that entire night in Steve's makeshift studio, drinking shitty, cheap vodka (the truth elixir), and crying. That was also the night that they decided to move together.

_"I mean,"_ he sniffled, _"it'll be harder for us to hit rock bottom if we're together, right?"_

_"Right."_ Steve was so drunk that he'd started gently rubbing Billy's injuries. Billy was drunk enough to let him. The next evening, when both of them had a shift together, Steve pulled out a map of Indiana. They picked out a few cities after much deliberation; their location had to be close enough to Hawkins so they could visit the kids and vice versa, but far enough away that Hawkins and all its issues were a distant thought. Any time they were off together, they would drive out, explore the town, scope out the wanted ads, and pray that something would just fall into place. And now, it almost felt like it had. Steve wondered if the other shoe was going to drop.

Oh, right. It had.


End file.
